


Body Shots

by provocative_envy



Series: Chaos Theory [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Future Timestamp, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provocative_envy/pseuds/provocative_envy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <br/>
  <i>College is basically all the shitty parts of high school turned up to Bose-level decibels of deafening and all the fun parts just kind of…slightly rearranged.</i>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Shots

* * *

 

College is—

Disappointing.

Having a Starbucks in the lobby of her dorm stops being cool after she takes her first Political Economies midterm and realizes that studying with glitter pens and flashcards and gingerbread lattes like she had in high school is probably not going to work anymore, and even though the parties are technically more abundant and socially diverse and at least partially legal depending on the ratio of seniors to freshman—they’re not really _different_.

College is basically all the shitty parts of high school turned up to Bose-level decibels of deafening and all the fun parts just kind of…slightly rearranged.

And Pansy had _expectations_ , okay? She had prepared herself for pulling all-nighters during finals and drinking tequila straight from the bottle on otherwise unremarkable Wednesday afternoons and piling laughingly into taxis with good-naturedly bemused drivers who would chuckle and commiserate and take selfies with her and—

She hasn’t done any of those things.

She has fallen asleep on her sketchbook and woken up to the point of a greasy lead pencil poking her in the cheek. She has polished off a carafe of Yellow Tail with her RA after being the only person on her floor to show up for the Orientation Week Icebreakers Session. She has gotten her period in the back of a cab on the return journey from the Magnolia they went to on _Sex and the City_ and then been handed a spray bottle of Windex and a roll of industrial paper towels when she’d tried to gracefully exit the car.

So.

Yeah, college is disappointing.

It doesn’t help that Harry hasn’t been able to visit her yet, or that Daphne has somewhat inexplicably replaced Pansy with _Hermione_ ; and it doesn’t help that Marcus is off _ghost-hunting_ with Luna and keeps sending Pansy fucking _postcards_ as if she gives a shit about what the hell _Cheyenne, Wyoming_ looks like; and it doesn’t help that Blaise has Theo and Draco has _everyone_ and she had been so sure last year that she could survive on her own in New York and have fun and be _Pansy_ without the accompanying hardware of her friends or her dad or—or _Harry_ —

She was wrong, basically.

And it isn’t like she’s _miserable_ , but—

There’s a loud, jarring knock on her dorm room door, rattling the full-length mirror she’s attached to the back of it.

Pansy frowns.

She glances at the small beige stain on her tank top—some asshole in the elevator had spilled _tea_ all over her when she’d reached around to push the button for her floor—and then sighs. It’s probably just her RA. Drinking shitty Moscato out of pastel paper Dixie cups apparently forges bonds so permanent that not even Pansy’s horrifically bad attitude can fucking break them.

“Coming,” she calls out half-heartedly, wiping cupcake crumbs off her yoga pants and yanking open the door.

And Pansy—

She doesn’t make a conscience decision to screech like a fucking _banshee_ and hurl herself at Harry when she sees him standing in the hallway because that would be _ridiculous_ and Pansy is _not_ a ridiculous person, okay, she _isn’t_ , she’s just—she’s just missed Harry _so much_ , has missed his stupid nerdy glasses and his stupid messy hair and his stupid smug grin that he’s never _quite_ been able to shed ever since her dad had clapped him on the shoulder and gruffly invited him out for a beer.

“Surprise?” Harry manages to gasp, wrapping his arms around her waist as she rains kisses across his chin and his throat and his _nose_ but not his mouth, no, she’s saving that for last—except he doesn’t let her, curls his hand around the nape of her neck and drags her lips up to his and she fucking _melts_ into it, into him, because he tastes like spearmint gum and Doritos and home and _Harry_ and she has _missed him_ , she has, so much so much so _much_.

“You’re an asshole,” she tells him, bunching his t-shirt up with her fingers. “You could have, like, _warned me,_ or something.”

Harry offers her his version of a charming wink which effectively jostles his glasses and makes his whole face look lopsided and _she_ might not be ridiculous but _he_ certainly is and she’s giggling before she can stop herself and her smile’s wide enough that her cheeks are fucking _hurting_ with the stretch of it and it’s worth it, it will always be worth it, _Harry_ will always be worth it—

“I brought tequila,” he says, nodding at his battered black duffle bag; the white Nike swoosh on the side is literally flaking off along the edges, but he insists that it has ‘sentimental value’ and continues to drag it along everywhere he goes and _wow_ has Pansy never been happier to see it before now, seriously.

“Tequila?” she repeats.

He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and rubs his thumb along her jawline. “Tequila,” he confirms.

She pauses. “Can we drink it straight out of the bottle?”

His expression flickers with something like _fond incredulity_ for a split-second before turning a little dirty and a lot excited. “ _You_ can,” he replies, lowering his voice and moving his hand down so that he’s framing the hollow of her pelvis. “ _I’m_ going to be more _creative_ , though.”

She blinks. “Right,” she says faintly. “Right. So—you should come inside now. Yeah. Inside.”

He smirks.

 

* * *

 


End file.
